


And They Lived Happily Ever After

by softalpaca



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Protective Vision (Marvel), Romance, Sad, Slow Burn, Sweet Vision (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softalpaca/pseuds/softalpaca
Summary: Wanda Maximoff and Vision couldn't be more different, and yet it's as if the universe is driving them towards an inevitable friendship. But nothing good in Wanda's life seems to last.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff & Vision, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is short, I'll work on lengthening my chapters. I've been writing all my life, but I'm new to fanficiton so bare with me if I make mistakes (and I will make mistakes). If my formating works (fingers crossed) Sokovian words will be italicised. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I have had writing it.

There was a painful tugging in his chest. It was a heartbeat strong and insistent, pumping energy through muscle and tissue. His body. Alive and fighting to stay that way. He was not sure what had come before this moment if anything at all. Was this what it was to be born? To feel everything yet know nothing at all? A prickling in his fingers and toes as they flexed involuntarily. He was not entirely certain he liked the sensation. He considered simply closing his eyes and drifting away again into whatever space he had occupied before shape and awareness. But he hadn’t opened his eyes yet had he? He focused on blinking, and light flooded them. It was simultaneously sharp yet soft, overwhelming yet not enough. All at once, voices broke the silence of his existence. He considered calling out to them, asking for some explanation, but instinctively he knew he was not yet capable of forming words they would understand. He was still only raw, vulnerable emotion. He needed time to develop and mature, though he suspected it would not be too much longer. He reached out a delicate hand, the skin plum red against the metal lid above him. 

She was the first person he saw clearly, the first real confirmation he was not alone. Her ebony hair contrasted against luminescent skin, transparent enough for him to observe tiny veins in her cheeks and neck. He thought she was beautiful, a concept foreign to him before that moment. He met her gaze unabashedly, and she stared right back at him, not frightened exactly, but wary. He wondered briefly if she saw beauty in him too. Quietly he hoped so. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The man, if you could call him that, who had risen from the cradle was broad-shouldered with an angular face and startling eyes. Eyes that were the color of the cornflowers that grew on the outskirts of Novi Grad. He might have been nothing more than an intricate machine,  _ androyid, _ created by arrogant men playing god, but when Wanda had touched his half-formed mind just hours before, it had felt so human. She had seen horrible things, but as she knew better than most, the two were not mutually exclusive. As curious as Wanda was, however, she did not reach out a second time into his subconscious. Normally she had no moral qualms about picking people’s brains for the pieces of information she desired. Mental privacy was a courtesy she rarely extended beyond Pietro, but something held her back this time. She did not want her worst fears about him confirmed. 

The mind stone sat dead center in his forehead framed by a bizarre crown of smooth vibranium. Wanda remembered with a shiver the power that had surged through her the last time she had seen it in its true golden form. An explosion of energy that had knocked Wanda off her feet and momentarily blinded Strucker’s scientists hiding behind the thick glass of the technician's booth. It had killed all of Strucker’s volunteers except for her and her brother, which it had somehow spared. Maybe it was her kinship to the stone that had granted a small piece of itself to her and Pietro that made her initial judgment of the _androyid_ waiver.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision ponders the work of Jane Austen while spending a morning alone in the Avenger's compound.  
> Content Warning: possible spoilers for Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. Brief mention of the Pride and Prejudice film (2005).  
> Vision thinks about, and worries over the mental health of his teammates. There are mentions of trauma and PTSD, and the death of Pietro Maximoff. Vision has nightmares and it is implied Wanda does as well. Vision invalidates his own trauma after the battle of Novi Grad, because he's a synthezoid, and doesn't think he should need any kind of support.

Vision sat in the empty common room of the Avengers compound. He told himself he was neither bothered nor relieved by the absence of anyone else. It wasn’t personal. The battle in Novi Grad had been exhausting mentally and physically for all the humans involved. Now the Avengers faced the public’s worship and outrage in equal measure. Never good enough to save everyone, never human enough to deserve the people’s empathy. He supposed to be a god was to never live up to people’s expectations. They needed time to process the situation, compartmentalize events, come to terms with a reality now for many altered permanently. It was in Vision’s nature to seek out a logical concrete explanation for the problems and behaviors of others if one such explanation existed. He had spent much of the night researching post-traumatic stress disorder, and while he lacked the credentials of a therapist or doctor he believed it was unlikely any of the Avengers had left Sokovia without lingering damage. Besides himself maybe. Vision had to remind himself constantly that he too was one of them. Not someone on the outside looking in, the odd one out in their lineup. He too had fears after Novi Grad. Anxieties and regrets that took root in a swirling series of interwoven thoughts. The difference he supposed was his brain was synthetic. He could sort the rational ideas from the irrational on his own. If the nightmares crept in again he did not need to sleep. He could fill his empty hours learning and absorbing information about the world he had known now for barely a week. He was after all designed to serve not to need.

Vision carefully turned a page of Sense and Sensibility. Mr.Stark, Tony he mentally reprimanded himself for the mistake, had called him Mr.Darcy one evening when he found Vision perched cross-legged in an armchair facing the window, just watching rainfall heavy and hard across the empty lawn. While as he predicted it wasn’t anything more than Tony’s standard brand of teasing, he was keen to understand the reference. Maybe next time he could laugh along. Mr.Darcy of course was Elizabeth Bennet’s love interest in Pride and Prejudice, but Vision had read that Sense and Sensibility was the best introduction to the work of Jane Austen. Mr.Darcy’s association with rain came not from the novel itself but from Joe Wright’s 2005 film adaptation. A scene of William Darcy running out into a storm was highly controversial, debated among fans and academics alike. Many found it altogether too melodramatic, claiming it cheapened the story, and others saw it as essential to the beauty of the movie. He found the discourse fascinating but decided it was best to read the book before making up his mind. He liked Austen’s prose and the novel proved an excellent study of everyday human relationships. Overall he felt he shared more in common with Colonel Brandon than Mr.Darcy. The Colonel seemed naturally inclined to put others before himself, even when it turned out to be the wrong decision. He didn’t fit the archetype of the leading man, but Marianne Dashwood still chose him in the end, seemingly in contrast to all her previous decisions. Seeing Marianne shut herself off from the world, the vibrancy drained from her, had brought Ms.Maximoff to mind. 

While Vision had interacted with the rest of his remaining teammates briefly: a nod and a smile from Ms.Romanoff and Colonel Rhodes when he passed either wandering the hallways, a firm handshake and expression of gratitude from Captain Rogers, and most surprising of all a long firm embrace from Tony, he had seen Ms.Maximoff only once. She was standing just under the lintel of the doorway to her room. She had quickly shut the door, her thick curtain of hair whipping across her unnervingly gaunt face. Her complexion had looked nearly grey in the light of the hallway, and dark circles hung beneath her heavy eyes. While the grief felt by Marianne Dashwood over the rejection of a man not worthy of her love and admiration was hardly comparable to what Ms.Maximoff had lost in Novi Grad, he couldn't help but see the parallels in their physical and behavioral response. Marianne Dashwood’s infatuation had driven her to detrimental illness, but it was almost trivial next to the loss of Wanda’s brother and the city she had called home all her life. He worried about what this meant for Ms.Maximoff facing a far greater mental wound. Marianne Dashwood may not have recovered without the support of her sister Elinor Dashwood and eventually Colonel Brandon. She might have continued to chase Mr.Willoughby even if she knew he would never be able to reciprocate her affection. Maybe Vision could be of help? No one else had yet been able to make headway with her. 

Truth be told he was unsure what Ms.Maximoff could possibly think of him. He had saved her life, but in that moment she had been more than willing to die with the falling city. She had not thanked him afterward, but instead had sat down hard on the ground, arms wrapped around her knees, face turned away into the distance watching her piece of the world crumble. Vision was unlikely to change her mind if she hated him for letting her live, but you never knew until you tried. He stood to his feet tucking his copy of Sense and Sensibility under its arm after carefully bookmarking his place. He hovered a few inches above the ground, his density shifting as he moved. With his center of balance, he often found gliding more comfortable than walking. The fabric of his sweater brushed against his skin and he shrugged his shoulders involuntarily. He was still not completely used to wearing clothes. He was able to easily manifest the suit he wore in combat, but less formal wear had proved more challenging. For now, he had borrowed clothes from Dr.Banner. He didn’t need them at the moment as he had not returned with the Quinjet. The pants were short on Vision exposing his crimson ankles, but he was more than fine making due with what was available. 

The Avengers complex was, he couldn’t describe it any other way, stark. The walls were an empty off-white and paneled floor-to-ceiling windows exposed and crisp manicured lawn. Grass lawns were terrible for the environment. Humans wasted time and space on grass, a merely aesthetic crop they couldn’t eat or use. He had made a mental note to bring this up with Tony but hadn’t found the appropriate moment. The building lacked the personality of a space truly lived in. Tony’s office was the only room Vision had seen that bore the distinct features of long-term human inhabitants. Vision approached the hallway that branched off into the Avenger’s living quarters. He had been given a large comfortable room when Mr.Wilson had given him his first tour of the facility. He had not returned there since his first night in the compound when had been awoken by the screams of the dying as the Iron Legion wreaked havoc, still preserved perfectly in his mind’s data bank. Dreams were a space in his subconscious he could not control and it unnerved him. 

When he reached Ms.Maximoff’s door he stopped and waited a moment listening for her moving behind it. She had scrawled her name, WANDA, in markered letters just above the door handle, and beneath again in its traditional Ukrainian Cyrillic. It was still quite early, but Vision suspected she also avoided sleep when she could manage it. Before he could change his mind, Vision leaned forward phasing into her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy I wrote a longer chapter. Thank you to everyone who is reading this. I don't have anyone helping me edit this at the moment, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. If I catch anything I'll be sure to come back and fix it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision break their silence and a teacup
> 
> CW//  
> Wanda has a lot of mental trauma. It's implied that she is incredibly depressed. There are references to the death of Pietro and the death of Ultron. Vision doesn't understand how to approach people. Wanda dislikes her Sokovian accent and compares it with Vision (I as the author do not share Wanda's opinions. Accents are beautiful).

Wanda jumped, and the ceramic teacup in her hand fell cracking cleanly in half when it hit the floor. There he floated, Vision, looking somehow more alien in a yellow sweater and gray slacks. He had slid through her locked door as if the barrier hadn’t been there at all, his body glowing alight with golden sparks. The dimness of her bedroom hollowed out the intricate lines and angles of his face. Then he smiled softly, his expression transforming into something gentle and hesitant.

“What are you doing?” Wanda had been too busy processing her surprise to feel indignant about his sudden invasion. She was still in the shorts and now tea-stained t-shirt Natasha had lent her, and her hair was unbrushed, but she found she didn’t really care. Vision opened his mouth but said nothing for a long moment, cornflower eyes flicking from her to the broken cup at her feet, and then back up to her again. 

“I thought I could offer my company. That is…” He paused again, swallowing in a surprisingly human gesture. “I know your feelings towards me may be less than amicable and I do not blame you for that.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Walkthrough doors. Walkthrough my door. Sneaking up on people scares them. I wasn’t prepared. I could have hurt you.” Wanda imagined red energy spinning around her fingers, shooting towards Vision. Tendrils of her rage and fear impaling him. She blinked the image away, her stomach twisting. 

“Excuse me for saying this, but I am not sure you would have the capacity considering the nature of my abilities.” She thought she caught the briefest glint of humor in his tone, but then it was gone and he was speaking again. “I apologize if I caused you any distress that wasn’t my intention.”

“I mean you never know.”

“Know what?”

“What I could be capable of.”

“I suppose that is equally true. What should I do if I wish to see you and you are in here?” Vision scanned her room, taking in the unmade bed and the clothes strewn across her floor. The red jacket she had worn her last day in Novi Grad lay abandoned on a chair.

“You knock.” Wanda tilted her head, curious. “Here I was thinking you knew everything.”

“I assume you meant that hyperbolically? I do not pretend I know much at all. You forget Ms.Maximoff I have not had much experience living.”

“Neither have I really.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Wanda thought of Hydra. How young she had been when she had signed her life away to an organization she knew next to nothing about. They had promised her freedom and the power to write her own history. They had delivered on neither. Vision waited patiently for her to elaborate, but Wanda said nothing. What was she doing, even entertaining the idea of opening the worst weakest parts of herself to a creature like him? She thought about entering into his mind. Learning his intentions towards her. She was already a monster; she didn’t understand what was possibly holding her back. But once again she let his thoughts remain an enigma to her. Wanda had not inserted herself into anyone’s head by choice since returning to the Avengers compound. Sometimes she could not avoid overhearing the thoughts and emotions of the others. Their distress was so loud right now. Natasha was the stoniest Avenger, never breaking her smooth poker face, but Wanda heard her mental anguish most clearly. Her longing for Dr.Banner to return. Her own self-loathing.

“Why are you here?” Wanda’s words came out more mulish than she had intended.

“Oh well, to elaborate on what I said earlier, I wanted to offer you my company. I have not seen you eat or engage with anyone else.” 

“What makes you think I would want to do this engaging with you?” Her harsh Sokovian accent sounded out of place after Vision’s perfect English. Wanda sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Her body ached with exhaustion, but she was painfully wide awake.

“I thought maybe our connection to the mind stone might give us some things in common?”

“How did you know my powers came from the stone? Did Stark tell you?”

“Mr.Stark… I apologize. Tony. Tony did not tell me.” Vision for the first time, in front of Wanda’s eyes at least, looked genuinely confused. It was unnerving. “I suppose I have always known.”

Vision’s feet touched down softly on her carpet, and he bent down on one knee in front of her. He scooped the pieces of the teacup into his palm with no apparent fear of cutting himself on the jagged edges.

“This is dangerous. I apologize for not cleaning it up sooner.”

“I want to be alone.” She wanted to tell him to get out like she had all the others, but she couldn’t bring herself to be too angry.

Vision looked up at her from where he crouched in front of her. Wanda stepped back, uncomfortable in his closeness. 

“I see. Thank you for your time.” And then curtly he was standing turning away from her.

“What was it like killing him?” It was the second time that morning Wanda had spoken before thinking, but she could not suppress her desire to know this one thing.

“Killing who?” This time she couldn’t read Vision’s expression.

“Ultron. I thought I had. I thought I had taken his last body. I wish it had been. Maybe then I could have made him understand my pain.”

“Ultron was no stranger to pain.”

“That’s not an answer.” It was now Vision’s turn to sigh.

“I do believe he regretted many things in his death, but not the motivations that lead him to his demise. He feared humans because he feared imperfection. He desired a human form, yet wanted global genocide. Killing Ultron was an act in defense of life. I gained no gratitude from it. I’m sorry if this does not satisfy your question, but it is all that I know.” 

And with that Vision was gone. Already phasing out the way he came, leaving nothing but a few gold sparks behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the kudos and kind comments. I'll do my best to post consistently with longer chapters when I have the time. Feedback as always is welcome and appreciated. Sorry this has been such a slow burn, all my writing is just: detail dump.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision and Rhodey discuss friendship over coffee

Vision had catalogued his conversation with Wanda down to the second. He spent the next day replaying it over and over again trying to make sense of her questions and answers. He drifted back and forth across the common room until he could no longer take the repetition. He entered the kitchen to find himself face to face with Colonel Rhodes. The Colonel stirred a dark cup of coffee with a spoon before carefully bringing the mug to his mouth. He was in a worn gray Air Force sweatshirt, and he looked surprisingly well rested.

“Hello Vision. I’m not used to seeing anyone on this team rise before noon unless the world is ending. Finish your book?”

“Hello Colonel. No, although I am planning to soon. It is an entertaining work of literature. I was not expecting to enjoy fiction this much.” 

“Something on your mind?” Colonel Rhodes raised an eyebrow at Vision and chuckled quietly.

“Nothing of importance.”

“If it’s important to you then it’s important.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” Vision chose honesty, as he was not sure he was capable of lying. “I am worried that I do not know how to communicate effectively, and yet I cannot understand which of my actions others find off putting.”

“Ha… Well isn’t that one of life’s many mysteries?” The Colonel smiled into his cup.

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

“I think that most people feel that way at some point, if they have any decency or humility. I know I have.” 

“Really? How did you remedy the situation? You are so well liked by everyone.” Vision was eager to be rid of the unpleasant gnawing of self deficiency. Colonel Rhodes let out a barking laugh snorting at Vision’s sincerity.

“That’s not even close to the truth. You ask big questions. Everyone steps on some toes whether they intend to or not. I’ve spent my whole life working with men who couldn’t see the forest for the trees. They pinned their shortcomings on others until they were either taught a lesson or drove everyone else away. Tony’s one of them.”

“Are you saying that you think M...Tony, is not a decent man?”

“No. You know it’s not that simple. But he had to learn how to find that decency, and some humility wouldn’t hurt him either. I’d think being Jarvis you’d remember Tony before he took control of his life?”

“I have some of Jarvis’s memories, but when he dumped his data to escape Ultron some of the information was not recoverable. I am not Jarvis, he is just one piece of a more complicated combination of operating systems.”

“I see. Well I’m not sure I can help you if I don’t know what went down. Care to tell me what led to this sudden introspection? Who’d you piss off?”

“I wouldn’t say that pissed off as you put it would necessarily be an appropriate description of Ms.Maximoff’s response to our conversation.”

“She left her room?”

“No, not exactly. I phased in and found her.”

“Strike number one.”

“Excuse me?” Vision blinked at Colonel Rhodes.

“You entered her personal space without her consent.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Intentions and actions are two different things. You see this kitchen?” Colonel Rhodes gestured vaguely towards the counters and sink. “We share these things. You’re always welcome in here, unless I guess in very specific situations. But let’s just say that because this is our shared home it is your prerogative to come and go as you choose.” 

“Yes… Thank you.”

“I’m not done. Now if a random group of strangers showed up in this kitchen, people you didn't know, who hadn’t been invited, and started making themselves at home, would that bother you?”

“There are a lot of contextual pieces missing from this scenario. It would depend greatly on their motivations and behavior, among other factors.”

“Yes, I know. But let’s just assume they’re not here for any reason other than to use this space. Would you be uncomfortable?”

“I would be worried about Tony’s privacy and the privacy of the information known only by those in the Avengers compound. It would be a security risk, and it might impede the Avengers in their ability to carry out necessary duties.”

“Ding ding ding. That’s what it’s like when someone enters your room uninvited. With friends you may reach a point where the invitation stands, but Wanda and you aren’t friends. While it’s unlikely she has any top secret information she’s guarding, there may be things she would prefer were private. Someone entering your space can be annoying or inconvenient or embarrassing. People are often one thing around others and another when they’re alone. We code switch our behavior depending on the company we’re keeping at any given time. Our rooms are often where we let our guards down and where we are most vulnerable. I mean I know when I’m alone in my room I am definitely not sitting like this.” Colonel Rhodes leaned back on his stool, his hands behind his head in an imitation of reclining. “And I talk differently to Tony than I do to you.” 

“People are complicated aren’t they Colonel? I do not think I change for others. I wouldn’t know how. I’ve always just been myself.” 

“You’ll start learning soon enough, and dammit call me Rhodey.”

“I’m sorry… Rhodey.”

“That’s more like it.” Rhodey stood carrying his mug to the sink.

“Before you leave Rhodey… I wanted to inquire, how does one ‘make’ friends?”

“In general or with Wanda?”

“Either.”

“You spend time with them. You find common interests. You learn things about each other by listening and sharing.”

“How do I spend time with someone if they are not open to seeing anyone?”

“That’s difficult. I know Nat’s been trying to coax Wanda out of her hermit shell. She practically clawed her when she finally made her eat something and shower. She won’t bother even talking to Sam, who actually has experience treating people in her situation. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t burn down the compound when you snuck up on her. Why are you so determined to buddy up with her? Especially when there’s people like yours truly right here more than willing to hang out.” Rhodey snapped and made awkward finger guns. Vision decided this was not a threat but rather one of the many counterintuitive ways humans endeared themselves to each other.

“I would be honored… and happy to be your friend Rhodey.” Vision couldn’t help but feel his spirits lift at the offer.

“Let’s shake on it.” Rhodey returned to the kitchen island and stuck out his hand to Vision who took it politely, careful not to squeeze it too tightly.

“I wish to be friends with Ms.Maximoff I believe because we are both alone. We don’t have a family or friends here. We are new to this place. I might be able to empathize with her more effectively.”

“Umm excuse me, friend number one here.” Rhodey’s familiar laugh lit up his face.

“I apologize, I meant before we shook on it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know I’m old. You probably wanna make friends with someone young and cool who shares your adolescent angst.”

“I am not an adolescent.”

“Oh really, well you brood like a teenager your nose stuck in a computer or a romance novel all hours of the day.”

“I was not aware that those things classified my age.”

“It was a joke. I’m allowed to give you a hard time. Friend privileges. So you talked to Wanda?”

“Yes. She did not look well. I suspect a vitamin D deficiency and a lack of proper rest and nutrition.”

“Figures. Nat says she’s only been eating biscuit cookies and tea. What’d she say, I mean when she saw you?”

“She told me to knock next time.” Vision decided it would be more respectful to exclude Ms.Maximoff’s question about Ultron’s death. “She was surprised I knew about her connection to the mind stone.”

“I have a suggestion for you, and take it with a grain of salt.”

“All right.”

“You’re the bluntest person I’ve ever met, and don’t get me wrong I like that about you. You’re honest. I never have to worry where I stand with you. I know it comes from a place of good intentions.”

“You’re welcome. I admire your honesty too Co…. Rhodey.”

“Thank you. Some people however, don’t see that bluntness the same way I do. Your sincerity especially when others haven’t been around you, can come across as rude or austere.”

“Oh. I do not intend…”

“No, Vision. People just don’t understand. If someone really talked to you they’d know you’re not unkind or impertinent. Don’t change that. Maybe just soften it, a bit? Be yourself but don’t be too forward until you’ve made your first impression.”

“That seems counterintuitive, but I will do my best to apply this advice.”

“Is that Vision’s voice I hear? He got Wednesday Adams to break her vow of silence?” Tony leaned against the doorway hair looking disheveled, bruises under his eyes and across his cheeks still just visible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had so much fun writing this. Lowkey considering making a playlist to go along with this story as I love listening to music while I write. Thank you for reading if you've made it this far. I don't know where this fic will go but I'm excited to see what it becomes. I want to explore the more comedic side of Wanda and Vision's characters and relationship as it was something I enjoyed so much in Wandavision, but of course I'm stuck in my typical dramatic angst.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda wanders through a nightmare landscape only to find Vision waiting for her again
> 
> BIG TW//  
> Body horror surrounding the death of Pietro. Mentions of scraped hands, blood, and broken bones.  
> Sokovia is a fictional country, and there's definitely some fictionalized/revisionist history in this chapter. Brief mentions of the Bible and Jesus's 40 days of temptation. Wanda swears a few times. There are mentions of political unrest and poverty in Sokovia.

Wanda stared at the ceiling, cold sweat pooling in her upper lip. Her eyelids drooped and she drifted, sinking into the bed. The ground of Novi Grad was packed hard with frost, the skyline was obscured by a heavy screen of smoke and soft flakes of snow that melted in her hair and lashes. She couldn’t see farther than the slender hand extended out in front of her. Fog gathered around her fingers adorned by chipped black polish. Wanda took a cautious step forward and the world beneath her began to tilt and she tripped, falling into the nothingness.  
“Wanda!” The voice cut into Wanda’s gut knocking the wind out of her chest.  
“Wanda! Help me!” He yelled to her in Sokovian.  
“Pietro! I am here! Where are you? I can’t… I can’t see you.” She willed her body to stop spinning, her feet to find earth beneath her again. She crumpled to her knees. Her palms were rubbed raw. There he was, slate eyes shining, his arms outstretched to her. She heaved stuttering breaths of relief, her lower lip trembling. He sweetly, carefully wiped the grime from her hands with the hem of his shirt.  
“Thank you.” She leaned into Pietro’s chest taking in his familiar smell. He was warm and soothing. Her face was hot and sticky, and she pulled away to rub at her tears. Her fingers came back red, and she knew then instinctively, it was not her blood coating her cheek, but his. Too much blood, in her eyes and matting her hair. Viscous and tasting of copper on her tongue. She wailed, dry retching. Wanda felt the dead weight of his body collapse on top of her. She cupped Pietro’s stubbled face in her stained hands, and she turned it upward to find his eyes had turned a milky yellow. It didn’t make sense. She smoothed his hair rocking his body back and forth in her arms. Choking sobs tumbled from her lips. Skeletal metal fingers wrapped around her forearm, yanking her away from his corpse. Those milky eyes followed her, a grotesque smile still spread across his mouth. It was the iron legion dragging her, hands pulling at her limbs and hair. She starfished writhing against their bondage. She could feel the integrity of her bones wavering, threatening to snap under the pressure of their uncompromising grip. She was broken, and they were going to pull her apart and take what of her there was that was still of value. They’d dump her empty husk somewhere with the rest of the bodies. Wanda honestly couldn’t blame them. She deserved this.  
All at once, Wanda felt their hands release her, letting her fall again spread eagle. She was floating now, a gust of wind lifting her gently, combing the blood from her hair. There Vision was like some bizarre angel, gauzy cape rippling, though she thought he was lovelier than any angel she had seen illustrated in the paintings of Sokovia’s National Museum of Fine Art. It used to have free admission for children under the age of fifteen, before armed militias had ransacked it, and set the building on fire. She and Pietro had delighted in exploring its exhibits that would have appeared modest to most but were captivating to them.  
Vision was holding her firmly against him, one arm under the crook of her knees, the other protecting her head. Wanda blinked, opening her eyes to find they were there, in the museum, somehow restored from her memories. She quickly extricated herself from his embrace, cheeks flushing. The universe and she supposed Vision had chosen to save her. She had inexplicably beaten the odds of death’s roulette again. She did not deserve any of this. They had chosen incorrectly. She was neither the smarter nor the stronger of her and Pietro. This world needed him in a way it would never need her. He deserved the life beating on in Wanda’s chest.  
“Care to tell me which artist made this? I’m sorry I do not read Sokovian.” Vision pointed at an oil painting with an intricate golden frame. Wanda found that her hair, face, and hands had been cleaned of Pietro’s blood literally if not metaphorically. She was in her best dress, a hand-me-down from her mother, with traditional Sokovian cornflowers embroidered across the baby pink fabric. Someone had stolen this from her, her last year in the orphanage. Sold it no doubt to a tourist in the market downtown. It was the last thing she had of her mother’s that was hers and hers alone. Tears rolled down her face.  
“It is Jesus during his forty days of temptation, painted by Nicholas Levi. He was my great uncle once removed, according to my mother. He was Jewish actually. He was commissioned to paint these by the Roman Catholic king.” Wanda pointed down the corridor to a row of paintings in the same delicate style.  
“They are beautifully rendered.” Vision’s expression was somber. He was still in Banner’s pants and sweater, and his feet were bare on the hardwood floor.  
“Big fancy American museums wanted to purchase his work, but the Sokovian government was too proud. See how the paint is cracking. It was never properly restored. We could not afford that. That’s why the resistance burned the museum. They were angry politicians cared more about old dusty paintings than the money they could have gotten selling them that could have been given back to the people.”  
“It is painful that all of this history was lost, but I find I do not blame them entirely. Right and wrong isn’t so black and white is it?”  
“Neither do I.” Wanda’s eyes were still wet, but her voice did not waver.  
“Shall we move on?” Vision offered her his smooth hand. It would not hurt to take it, she reasoned. This was after all a dream. It had to be. None of what she was seeing could be real. She shouldn’t be embarrassed that she desired to take it, feel his skin against hers again. After all, he would never know. It was strange how the earth’s strongest metal could be so soft to the touch.  
“Where are you going?” Strucker’s German-accented Sokovian rang out, breaking the pleasant quiet of the gallery, making her shoulders stiffen. “I am not done with you girl.”  
“Listen to me, Wanda.” Vision took her by the shoulders. “You need to wake up now. I’m sorry you could not rest longer.”  
“I can’t. I don’t know how.”  
“You never know what you could be capable of.”  
Wanda woke, coughing into a damp pillow. The industrial clock on her nightstand read 8:02 AM. For a moment she could not remember where she was and she thrashed in the sheets.  
“You okay in there kid?” It was Natasha, in perfect Russian. The language shared enough with Sokovian that they could frequently be used interchangeably. Natasha had held to the idea that if she found a linguistic common ground with Wanda maybe she would listen.  
“Fuck off you daughter of a bastard.”  
“Ooooh, you’re getting creative. Want breakfast? Clint’s making pancakes on his last day here before leaving for the homestead.”  
“That’s today?”  
“Yup, better say goodbye now.”  
Wanda was tempted. Pietro had died saving Clint. His final act of heroism hadn’t been in vain. She wanted the closure of seeing Clint before he departed. It felt like the right thing to do. Something she was rarely sure of these days.  
“Wait, I’m coming.”  
“Shower first, compound rules.”  
Wanda held up a middle finger in the general direction of Natasha’s voice. As Wanda washed her thick wavy hair, combing floral-scented shampoo from her scalp to her roots, she couldn’t help but be reminded of her nightmare. It had been as horrible and vivid as her others in the last week but had deviated significantly with the arrival of Vision. She had not dreamed of him saving her before. She remembered the experience as if it had happened to another girl in a different lifetime. She turned the water back on and began rinsing section by section. It was a habit ingrained in her not to waste a luxury like clean running water. It felt fundamentally wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a lot more hesitant about posting this chapter just because stylistically it's the most out of my comfort zone. I wanted to explore the history of Sokovia with some world building, while still staying within the general MCU canon. I've never written anything close to historical fiction before so hopefully this chapter works. If anything's inaccurate or inconsistent I'll do my best to fix it. All feedback is welcome. Thank you all again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First teacups, now eggs.
> 
> CW// mentions of the movie Girl, Interrupted. Egg and dairy products are consumed. Tony Stark is a jerk on purpose.

“You shouldn’t mock her Mr.Stark.” Vision felt a spike of annoyance towards his creator. He dropped his first name for the more distant formal address despite the man’s wishes.  
“I wasn’t, and it’s not like the kid is here to hear me.” Tony tucked in his crumpled Yellow Brick Road t-shirt, and took a glass from the dish drainer, filling it with tap water. The raw energy and optimism that had been so apparent when he had seen Tony for the first time were absent now.  
“How you treat a person when they are not present is just as important. If we do not respect each other how are we supposed to work together effectively.” Vision may not have understood how doors worked, but there were things he believed to be fundamentally true.  
“That’s right, stick it to 'em.” Rhodey stuck out an upturned hand to Vision who stared at it nonplussed. “Give me five? You slap my hand.”  
Vision gave Rhodey a light pat on his palm uncertain as to the purpose of the gesture.  
“That’s good enough I guess.”  
“Hey hey? Why did you take the tin man’s side?” Tony glared at Rhodey.  
“Because it wasn’t yours. I am also trying to be supportive of Vision for a change.”  
At that moment Mr.Barton brushed Tony aside, arms laden with groceries. He sat them down on the kitchen island in front of Vision and waved hello in greeting. He was a short barrel-chested man with mousy brown hair and the beginnings of a goatee. Vision did not have a strong opinion yet on Mr.Barton’s character. He seemed somewhat surly, but Vision admired his willingness, despite no evidence of enhanced abilities, to risk his life for the greater good.  
“Where’s Natasha?”  
“Don’t know. Probably trying to force ‘girl, interrupted’ to get some sunlight.”  
“You haven’t actually seen that movie have you.” It was a statement, not a question. Mr.Barton rolled his eyes and began unpacking the food. He laid out a carton of brown speckled chicken eggs, a gallon of pasteurized milk, and a paper bag of all-purpose flour. A round bead of sweat dripped from his forehead and he wiped it away with the arm of his hoodie, before moving to wash his hands. He must have made the hour-long uphill run to the nearest store.  
“Well hello, boys. Isn’t this a party?” Ms.Romanoff broke the unspoken tension, blowing a wisp of ginger hair out of her eyes. She looked more casual than Vision had seen her before. She was out of uniform, in a camisole and blue jeans. She came up behind Mr.Barton and gave him a one-armed hug. The two had an easy-going platonic chemistry that only years spent together seemed to have been able to achieve.  
“Since you all love to act like children I’ll treat you like mine. You’re getting pancakes.” Mr.Barton quipped. Vision envied his ability to relax around all of these people. To know what to say and how to say it to make others genuinely laugh. It was like a secret language spoken in the small movements of an eyebrow, upturned corner of a mouth, and intonation of voice. Vision was shut out of these moments of understanding, not fluent in these nuances.  
“I want chocolate chips.” Tony leaned up against Mr.Barton’s free shoulder.  
“You’re disgusting, we need blueberries.” Rhodey piped in.  
“Walnuts sound good. I think we have those. Plenty of protein.” Ms.Romanoff offered.  
“I have no preference as I do not eat food.” They all turned to Vision, as though he had shouted this information.  
“No shit sherlock.” Tony attempted poorly to suppress a harsh laugh. Vision couldn’t help but notice none of Tony’s smiles had yet reached his eyes.  
“Clint?” Wanda’s, Ms.Maximoff, he reminded himself, voice approached. Soft and melodic, it triggered a sensation, new and unfamiliar fluttering beneath his skin. She stood, arms crossed across her chest, just behind him. She wore a teal dress shirt several sizes too big, and it draped her petite frame smocklike. She had clipped her damp hair out of her face revealing red-rimmed eyes and slightly chapped lips. He averted his gaze, aware he had probably stared a moment too long to be polite.  
“Nice to finally see you. So generous for you to bless us with your precious time. I mean just considering how long you’ve trespassed on my hospitality.” Tony gave an exaggerated bow. No one spoke but Vision turned and attempted what he hoped was an understanding expression. He wanted to apologize, but he knew it would mean nothing if it did not come from Tony himself.  
“Hey, Wanda.” Mr.Barton abandoned the kitchen island to meet Ms.Maximoff. He leaned in to hug her, but she took a step back leaving him grasping at thin air. “Oh, whoops.”  
Mr.Barton covered for her gracefully and held out his hand. She didn’t take it but instead glanced at the cabinets above his head, as though meeting his eyes would be physically painful. She played with her fingers as if she wished to distract herself.  
“I don’t know how to say thank you…”  
“Really? I would have never guessed.”  
“Tony, would you put a lid on it?” Rhodey shot the man an overtly dirty look.  
“I owe Pietro my life. That’s a debt I doubt I can repay. But if you ever need a place to stay, Laura and I will always welcome you into our home. You’re an honorary member of the Barton clan.”  
“I don’t want your pity and I don’t want to burden you. Just to let you know I don’t think it was your fault. I’m glad that you’re still here. That’s what my brother would have wanted.”  
“Well done! Gold star.” Tony clapped, but Vision didn’t think it was meant as a compliment. The egg hit Tony in the back of the head with a loud smack, cracking in his hair and sliding down his neck. Another one quickly followed this time knocking his glasses from his nose and smearing bright yolk in his untrimmed beard. Ms.Maximoff was already gone, but Vision knew the food had not moved on its own. The eggshells still glowed faintly red. Ms.Romanoff took a fistful of the now open flour and tossed it at Tony. It clung to his face and in his salt and pepper hair. Tony spit out a mouthful of powder and wiped at his tongue with a stray paper towel. Vision decided he could no longer be a bystander. He felt the best course of action would be to speak his mind.  
“I know how you and everyone else talk about me, Mr.Stark. Like I do not feel as acutely as you do. As though my pain is minimal in comparison to that of others because I am not like you. You may continue treating me like this, but I won’t tolerate it directed towards anyone else.”  
After a moment Tony bent to retrieve his glasses, rubbing them on a clean patch of his shirt.  
“I talk about everyone like this. It’s my brand.”  
“Not from what I have observed. Your comments towards Ms.Maximoff are generally more disparaging, and minimize what she has experienced.” Vision knew he may have overstepped, but he could not change that now. He phased through the floor leaving behind Tony, a stubborn look of defiance set in his brow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda discovers the introspection offered by a morning run.  
> CW//  
> Wanda remembers her time in a Sokovian orphanage, and other children who didn't make it. She and Pietro lacked access to adequate clean food and water. Wanda enjoys running because the pain of exercise is an escape. Wanda is highly self critical. Some swearing in this chapter.

Wanda started running and hadn’t stopped. Her combat boots beat a steady rhythm into the floor. She had meant to return to the safety of her room, where she could lock her door and put a wall between her and the rest of the world. It might not shut out their thoughts, fears, anger, but it made it manageable. Survivable. On the days Wanda was lucky, she could put their tangled voices back in her box and shut it.   
Somewhere she had taken a wrong turn and had found herself in a maze of staircases. Clear plexiglass guardrails made everything appear open yet somehow more confusing to navigate, like an enlarged rodent cage. The only way out she supposed would be down. Why a handful of people needed floors of ugly empty space was beyond Wanda. Leave it to Stark to make something exorbitant, flashy, and completely wasteful. She had grown up with nothing, sleeping in the Novi Grad Children’s Shelter without heating, in below-freezing Sokovian Winters. When they could find matches they melted snow to fill their empty stomachs. They knew kids who had died of exposure, small bodies curled stiffly beneath fraying blankets. She and Pietro had hunted through trash cans and dumpsters, picking over luckier people’s discarded leftovers. Now she was living in the United States, the so-called land of golden opportunity, in a penthouse, and she was more alone than she had ever been before. Having someone you were willing to die for meant there was always something to live for. Now that reason to keep moving forward had been taken from her, she had hit a dead end. Misery didn’t always spare the rich and undeserving.   
Mere days ago Wanda wouldn’t have been able to think of a greater personal insult than to be admired by Stark, and here she was fleeing from his disapproval like an embarrassed child in need of validation. Maybe it was because she knew he had a point. She wasn’t a hero or a martyr. She was a burden. Wanda was an experiment fashioned in the image of a weapon of mass destruction. She was only allowed a life with the Avengers because they were capable of muzzling her. Shepherding her away from a world too breakable for her to touch. She wasn’t noble like Steve or whip-smart like Natasha. She wasn’t selfless like Clint or pure like Vision. Deep down maybe Stark knew she was as scared, self-absorbed, and despicable as he was, and he wanted her to see it. To know he knew her hands were dirty too. She should have died before she’d ever met him, but nature had fucked up, as it tends to occasionally. Or maybe she was giving him more credit than he deserved and this wasn’t an attempt at emotional sabotage. He just liked picking at people until he drew some blood.   
Wanda finally made a b-line for what had to be an exit from the compound building proper, not sure where she was going, only knowing she physically needed out of whatever purgatory this was. Neatly trimmed grass-lined fresh pavement. A robin’s egg sky stretched out seemingly forever in front of her, peppered with trees. Wanda took off at breakneck speed, moving with all that was in her towards nowhere but away. She couldn’t go with Clint, that would be unfairly cruel to him, but away was something she could move towards. Search for. She welcomed the pain burning like fire in her lungs, and aching in the soles of her feet. An old friend. It erased everything else for a moment. It was all she could feel. It filled up the empty gnawing space of her heartache. Distracted her from her own selfish existence, setting her free if only temporarily.   
Wanda sensed Sam’s mind before she saw him. He stood only a few inches taller than her but he was powerfully built, with broad shoulders that cut a striking figure. She thought he looked the part of a tough American action hero with his heavy eyebrows and symmetrical features. Today he was in tacky camo cargo shorts and a bright red sports jersey. Sam increased his jog to try to catch up to her sprint, smiling and waving, revealing dimples and slightly crooked teeth. Imperfections that only added an outward charm to his appearance. He had been the most annoyingly persistent next to Nat, in trying to connect with Wanda since her return from Novi Grad. She hadn’t given him the time of day, outright ignoring any attempts to win trust. If her first impression of his thoughts and ambitions were anything to go by he was not quite as rough around the edges as the teammates he thought of as his second family. He was also painfully naive. He believed he could fix her. He would tell her things could only get better because her glass was half full and all the normal bullshit and expect her to take his word for it.   
“Care if I join you?” Sam was breathless but still grinning. Wanda said nothing but plowed forward, trying to find that painful release into nothing again. At some point, her hair had come undone and it spread in smoke-like tendrils behind her.   
“I mean just to run. No need to talk about anything if that’s not your style. I could use the motivation. I’ve been slacking. I mean,” Sam took a large gulp of air, “I think if I was running from a criminal supervillain or whatever we’re supposed to call them these days I’d do much better if I was keeping up with you. I need to improve my game.”  
“I’m not a car. You can’t tune me up, whatever that’s called.” Her voice came out raw and winded.  
“Excuse me?” Sam brought his knees up lengthening his strides.  
“No fresh coat of paint is gonna fix a machine with flawed designs.”  
“This metaphor is getting out of hand. I never worked on cars, that was my old man’s gig. Can we take a… break, please?”  
“I fucking hate English… language. You have these damn idioms. No one is right for the… the… situation.” Wanda finally let herself slow to a complete stop. They had hit gravel and her boots kicked up a cloud of silt.  
“I have this ongoing thing with Steve.”  
“Captain Propaganda?”  
“Good one. The first time I met him he ran laps around me and I’ve been trying to find a way to beat his time ever since. I think you young lady might be some actual competition.” Sam bent over panting but still in high spirits.  
“Would you kindly fuck off? I’m not a child and I’m not your lady.”  
“Swearing is good. Releases endorphins, relieves stress. Please have at it. I’m sorry, Wanda, it was meant as a compliment.”  
“There’s a phrase in Sokovian, I guess it would be, sunny side up eggs have soft yolks. Easy to break.”  
“I’m guessing that wasn’t meant as a compliment. I’m not gonna beat around the bush. You think I’m soft for wanting to help you adjust?”  
“I think your relentless optimism won’t do you or many any favors.Waste of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about exploring the idea that Wanda's psionic abiltiies are like any other sense, and she has synesthesia. However I find it so hard to articulate sensory experiences without getting too wordy, and it usually goes nowhere important. I'll sit on the concept for now. As always thank you for reading. I've decided I'm going to aim for 30 chapters, fingers crossed.


End file.
